


What is it they say about well-behaved women?

by meletes_muse



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Gen, Suffragettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meletes_muse/pseuds/meletes_muse
Summary: Five times Helen Magnus made history.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Sanctuary.

London, 21 April 1911

 

James paced back and forth in front of the glowing embers of the dwindling fire. It was late. Helen should have been back hours ago. _Where in God’s name was she?_ Of course, she insisted that the streets were perfectly safe, and that she’d walk wherever she pleased, but James worried. And what worried him further still, was the knowledge – or the _lack_ of knowledge – of Helen’s whereabouts that evening. She’d been evasive when he’d asked her where she was going, replying simply that he needn’t worry and that she’d be back by ten. It was now well past midnight.

James sighed. Ever since Helen had met Christabel, she’d been running off to secret gatherings at every opportunity. She’d even hosted a meeting at the Sanctuary a couple of weeks’ ago. “Don’t you see James?” she’d exclaimed excitedly, “we’re on the cusp of history!”

It wasn’t that James didn’t support the women’s suffrage movement, but he took exception to their methods. Disrupting a public meeting was one thing, but blowing up post boxes? Smashing windows? People would think they were no better than ruffians.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the heavy front door being pushed closed _._ He heaved a sigh of relief. _Thank Goodness._

He met her in the hallway. “Where in God’s name have you been?”

Helen sighed and removed her black leather gloves.

James’ nose twitched. There was a faint smell of burning in the air. And was that _gunpowder_ on Helen’s sleeve?

“Helen?”

She turned away from him, hanging up her jacket with a little a more force than was necessary.

“ _Helen!_ ”

She whirled around to face him. Irritation played across her features.

“What is it, James?”

“Godammit, Helen!” He ran an agitated hand through his greying hair. “Do I even _want_ to know what you’ve been up to this evening?”

Helen’s eyes blazed, but she regarded him coolly. And it was at that moment that he saw it. When he’d met the older version of Helen all those years ago, he’d assumed that her fiery temper was a product of the future in which she lived, that the frustrations she’d felt had been the inevitable result of her being forced back into the constraints of a past era, an era which must have seemed primitive in comparison to the highly-advanced civilization she was clearly used to. Now he realized that she’d always felt that way, that she’d _always_ felt, not just stifled, but aggrieved, wronged. And she had been. A woman in a man's world. But she'd hidden it. Or rather, they hadn't understood the weight of it, James and the others, hadn't tried to.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said, bitterly, inadvertently confirming what he had only just deduced.

James sighed and took her hands in his own, squeezing them lightly.

“On the contrary, my dear, I think I’m beginning to.”

His lips twitched in a self-deprecating smile, “Come on,” he said, pulling her gently towards the drawing room, “I’ll call for some cocoa.”

 

 

When James came down to breakfast the following morning, Helen was already seated, humming quietly, and helping herself to toast and bacon.

The morning paper had been left – quite deliberately – at his place-setting, and the headline immediately caught his eye.

SUFFRAGETTES BURN DOWN GOLF PAVILLION. POLICE HUNT FOR CULPRITS.

He glanced over at Helen. He understood now. Or, at least, he thought he did. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t worry. Or that he agreed with her methods. He fixed her with a mock stern look.

“I hope you’re not going to expect me to bail you out of jail?”

_Again_ , he added silently to himself. Though of course in this case, his past was Helen's future. She really had no idea how little she would change. And for all the new-fangled ideas of this era, she never really had. She had always been, would always be, was always, _Helen_. And he was glad of it.  

She looked up from her toast, a small smile playing about her lips.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, darling.”

“No,” he reached for the teapot, “I didn’t think you would.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
